


It's A Date

by nothingventurred (nothingventured)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tumblr request, awkward!My, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingventured/pseuds/nothingventurred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another tumblr request: Could you do one where Mycroft asks Greg out and he is nervous and kinda awkward? Thank you!!!</p>
<p>Awkward!My and Lestrade being cool, as usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tumblr Anons](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Tumblr+Anons).



Mycroft Holmes was never one to be nervous. He had met with royalty, been in the heat of battle when he had worked for M16, and risked his own life and career more than once to save his younger brother from himself. He wasn't nervous, he tried to convince himself as he approached DI Lestrade, who was screaming at the younger Holmes for something. Mycroft suspected it had something do with the Ipecac syrup his brother had so generously poured into Anderson's morning coffee after a confrontation the day before. The ginger couldn't help but smile at the thought of Anderson, head hanging over a toilet, cursing Sherlock's name. While he had to scold Sherlock for his own sake, the elder Holmes secretly found it hilarious and even a little endearing that his brother could use something so simple and turn it into something so devious. Not that he could ever tell Sherlock that.

The definitely-not-nervousness returned full force as he got closer to the DI, and his heart began to thump a bit faster in his broad chest.

"Now piss off!" Lestrade finished, turning around to stomp away, and instead running smack-dab into Mycroft, knocking them both to the ground. Mycroft felt his arse hit cold, wet concrete, and he felt the wind leave him for a moment, his lungs frozen. He sat there gasping for several minutes, unable to take in any air.He managed to suck in a breath after awhile, and felt his entire chest relax; he could breathe, breathing was a good thing.

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Greg apologised as soon as he was sure he was uninjured. "I really am...Mycroft?" Greg cocked his head and stared at the government official, who was trying (and failing) to get up off the ground with his dignity still intact. "Yes, Inspector," Mycroft replied, the nervousness creeping back into his chest. He stood up carefully and picked up his slightly damaged umbrella, hooking it over his forearm.

"If you're here to see the Consulting Prick, he's just left." Greg muttered, adjusting his jacket and smoothing back his hair. Mycroft felt his mouth go dry; if there was one thing that absolutely, undeniably turned him on about Gregory Lestrade, it was the man's hair. It was the perfect length, texture (judging by visuals, of course, as he had never been lucky enough to run his fingers through it) and colour, silver-not-grey. Mycroft shook his head to rid himself of the terribly naughty fantasy he was having about the other's hair rubbing him in a sensitive place, then spoke.

"I was here to see you, actually." he replied, shifting slightly; not enough so that a normal person would notice it, but if Sherlock had been there, Mycroft suspected that he would have shouted to all who would listen, "Mycroft's trying to ask Lestrade on a date, and failing miserably! Everybody come look!". Mycroft remembered the one time he had shown interest in someone in front of Sherlock. Sherlock had promptly gone up to the man and deduced (in the span of fifteen seconds) that he had herpes, had been divorced twice, and was addicted to Oxycontin. Mycroft hadn't exactly needed that information (he already knew it, and he wasn't planning on bloody marrying the guy, just admiring him from afar) he had just thought the man was pretty. But that had been one of the (many) humiliating moments in his life as a direct result of Sherlock's meddling. A little niggling voice in the back of his head told him that it was just him getting a taste of his own medicine, but he pushed it down.

"Mycroft?"

Mycroft was jolted from his memory by the voice of a concerned detective, and he cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning pink.

"Yes, well...I was wondering, if you weren't busy, if you'd like to join me for dinner tonight."

"Yeah, sure. It'll do Sherlock and John some good to get out for dinner." Greg replied with a smile.

Mycroft tried his damndest not to sneer at the mention of his younger brother, but tried again, dropping a subtle hint to the DI.

"I was thinking more of a private affair, actually."

"What, like just you and I?"

Mycroft swallowed, then gave a nod, not allowing his nervousness to break through the mask of indifference that he usually wore.

"So...and correct me if I'm wrong...would this be considered a date?" the DI asked cautiously.

"If that is acceptable to you, then yes." Mycroft replied, giving himself a mental pat on the back for not stammering. "A date."

Mycroft held his breath, silently praying that he wouldn't make a complete idiot out of himself, or at least, if he had, that the DI would be gentle and let him down easy.

The corners of Greg's mouth twitched up into a warm smile, and he nodded. 

"I'd love to."

Mycroft had been hoping to hear those words fall from the detective inspector's lips, but rehearsing them in your head and hearing them aloud are two completely different things.

"I...really?...I mean, yes. Good. Thank you, Inspector. I will give you a call, yes?"

Greg nodded again, his grin widening and showing off one of his dimples. Mycroft hadn't noticed those before.

"Good. Then it's a date."


End file.
